An Echo of Justice
by dreiber
Summary: Dietrich befriends an SS officer with a troubled past that puts them both in danger.  Only Moffitt can solve the officer's dilemma.


An Echo of Justice

The fading light of the African sun formed an orange ribbon of color as night descended on the western horizon. A cool breeze hinted at the onset of twilight, forcing Hauptmann Hans Dietrich to draw his uniform tunic tighter around his lean body-his only defense against the encroaching cold.

Dietrich checked his watch for the fifth time in 45 minutes and cursed the officer who had sent him on this errand. Not only had he been ordered to retrieve the visiting 'dignitary,' -the official "Curator of Antiquities" for the Third Reich—but this 'curator' was also a member of the SS. Dietrich anxiously checked his watch again. The plane should have arrived a half-hour ago. "Get me Oberst Berger," he brusquely instructed his driver as he strode from the improvised landing strip towards the waiting staff car.

Leaning against the front fender of the Mercedes, Dietrich waited as the private hurriedly cranked the field telephone. As the necessary connections were being made, the captain continued to scan the ever-darkening night sky and wondered what was causing the delay. It wouldn't surprise him if the entire mission had been cancelled and no one at headquarters had had the good sense to inform him. Dietrich sighed. He didn't know if he should be annoyed or worried. Nighttime in the desert was dangerous—something he was sure his superiors would not understand. Safely ensconced behind their desks in their well-appointed offices, they could not know the inherent dangers of maneuvering through the pitch-black night with the stars as the only source of light. He would have to make a decision soon-leave before it became too dark to see or stay and risk sniper attacks from Allied soldiers following his headlights. In either case, he needed approval from his commanding officer.

"Herr Hauptmann," the private started, "Here is—" The captain's raised hand prevented the young man from finishing.

Dietrich heard the clangor of the engines before he saw the airplane begin its descent in the east. With a wave of his hand, he dismissed the phone call. "Cover your face!" he instructed his driver, as he strained to be heard above the approaching craft. Pulling his protective goggles over his eyes, he adjusted his collar to cover the rest of his exposed face.

Even at a safe distance, the two soldiers could feel the sting of the sand against their skin as it penetrated their clothes in the wake of the landing plane. Dietrich barely could discern the outline of the aircraft through the cloud of dust surrounding the fuselage. The metallic sound of a hatch door opening drew the captain's attention to the midsection of the plane. An interior light was the only source of illumination silhouetting a solitary figure cautiously descending the stairs to the ground.

Dietrich jogged the few meters to the airstrip. He stopped for a moment to speak with the pilot. The plane had been blown off course by a storm over the Mediterranean, the pilot explained, and they had been forced to put down in Benghazi to refuel. Dietrich thanked him as he examined the pilot's papers and those of Major Johan Werner. Satisfied that everything was in order, he asked that the major's things be loaded in the car, then turned to address his visitor.

The SS-officer was at least as tall as Dietrich. Even in the diminished light, he could see that the major's face was gaunt and pale. His gray overcoat was at least a size too large, and his hat rested just above the wire-rimmed glasses that framed his gray eyes.

Saluting sharply, the captain introduced himself. "Hauptmann Hans Dietrich."

The major had to shift his briefcase to his left before he raised his arm in a feeble facsimile of the official Nazi salute. Then, without so much as a "Heil, Hitler," he reached for Captain Dietrich's hand. "Johan Werner," he said as the two shook hands.

Werner's exclusion of his military title made Dietrich uncomfortable. He had never known an SS officer unwilling to flaunt his military bearing, whether it was deserved or not.

"Major, it's late," Dietrich said, nodding towards the setting sun. "It would be best if we—"

"I understand, Captain," Werner interrupted, "I apologize for the delay. Please lead on."

They had not gone twelve meters before Dietrich noticed Werner lagging behind. He was about to ask if something was wrong when he noticed the major's irregular gait as he struggled to keep pace on the unfamiliar terrain. "May I take that for you?" Dietrich asked, indicating the major's briefcase.

"No, thank you," Werner replied when he saw the look of concern in the captain's eyes. "I am fine. Truly." Without pausing, he limped past his host to the staff car.

Dietrich's eyebrows rose imperceptibly as he watched Werner. The major was not what he had expected. Curiously, Werner had neither the arrogance nor the bearing of a SS-Sturmbannfuhrer. Watching as Werner gingerly climbed inside the back seat of the sedan, Dietrich could not help but wonder what circumstances had brought this unusual man to the North African desert.

"Space is at a premium out here," Dietrich said as he turned around in the front seat to face Major Werner. "I'm afraid you'll have to share my tent tonight," he explained as the car came to a halt just inside the perimeter of the camp. "I'll have Lieutenant Weiss escort you to Bizirta tomorrow."

Werner nodded. "Thank you, Captain," he said, a weary smile lifted the corners of his mouth. "I shall try not to get in the way."

The major was already half way out of the car before Dietrich could attempt to open the car door for him. As Dietrich waited for Werner to retrieve his belongings, Lieutenant Weiss approached the captain with several messages in hand. Glancing at each dispatch in turn, the captain made only a cursory examination of the notes, until he reached one in particular. "Please see Major Werner to my tent," he instructed his aide. Excusing himself, Dietrich crossed the camp in the direction of the communications center.

Werner watched as Captain Dietrich disappeared underneath a tent flap on the opposite side of the encampment. He could guess at what was contained in the note that required the captain's immediate attention and he wondered if Dietrich knew what he had unwittingly become involved in something over which he would have no control.

Sitting on the side of his cot, Werner looked up when Dietrich entered the tent. It was painfully obvious that the captain was not happy.

"It appears that I am to take you to Bizirta, myself," Dietrich announced, failing to hide his annoyance behind his calm façade.

Werner looked at him for a moment, then stared at the hard, dry desert floor beneath them. "I suppose you are to be my jailer," he mumbled.

"Pardon me?" Dietrich asked, sitting on his own cot across from the major.

Werner shook his head. Evidently, Captain Dietrich was not fully aware of his part in this escapade; the major was sure that, given time, he would discover the truth on his own. "I suspected that might be the case," he replied, covering his indiscretion. He watched as Dietrich removed his boots and untied the lacing of his breeches around his calves. "I don't suppose they've told you why I'm here?"

Without straightening, Dietrich looked up at the major. He had that feeling again. The feeling when he knew something was wrong but was powerless to correct it. Oberst Berger had given him only the minimum amount of information he needed to complete this mission. No doubt Berger had a good reason for being so reticent, Dietrich thought, but being the odd man out made the captain even more suspicious. And Major Werner was a mystery that begged to be untangled. Finally, Hauptmann Dietrich's curiosity got the better of him. "No," Dietrich answered. "Why are you here?" he cautiously asked.

Werner laughed to himself, as if he knew a joke he couldn't share. "Major Werner's mission is to find water," he said as if he were quoting some official report. He laughed again, at the sheer improbability of his task.

Dietrich didn't share his humor. Water was more precious than gold in the desert. The prospect of finding alternative sources of water was serious, indeed. "Can you do it?" he asked.

Werner looked at Dietrich, surprised to be taken seriously. "It's possible," he answered honestly, "but not probable."

"You don't seem to have a great deal of confidence in yourself," Dietrich observed.

Werner tugged at the boot on his left leg. "I used to," he answered. The force with which he removed the boot was the only indication of his veiled anger.

Dietrich noticed the major was having trouble with the boot on his injured right leg. Without asking if his assistance was needed, the captain grasped Werner's boot in his hands and gave it a tug.

Holding onto the cot, Werner winced as the captain pulled again, then slipped the boot off of his leg. He could immediately feel the calf begin to swell. When he opened his eyes, he could read the concern etched in Dietrich's face. "Don't worry," he said between labored breaths, "it will be fine by morning." Attempting to ignore the searing pain, he added, "It always is."

Wide-awake, Dietrich laid on his bed, staring at the canvas ceiling. What had begun as a simple escort assignment had somehow become unexpectedly complex. Major Werner was a time bomb waiting to explode. Sent on a mission he neither believed in nor hoped to accomplish, Dietrich thought he was simply going through the motions, all the while straining against a role for which he was not suited.

Dietrich too was being drawn into the intrigue against his will, by both his commanding officer and Werner, himself. Unable to extricate himself from the situation, Dietrich had been ordered by Oberst Berger to accompany Werner to Bizirta. His insistence set off the captain's internal alarm—a warning that Major Werner wasn't the retiring SS-officer he appeared to be.

Just as Dietrich began to wonder if this was some poorly designed test of his loyalty, his attention was drawn to a disturbance on the other side of the tent. Even in the darkness, Dietrich could see the major's body twitch uncontrollably, the writhing accentuated by muffled cries that were painful to hear. Afraid that the major was having some sort of seizure, Dietrich was immediately by his side. He struggled to hold Werner still and was surprised by the man's strength as the major resisted. He sternly called out the major's name.

Major Werner awoke with a start. Abruptly called from his nightmare, he frantically looked around the tent as if expecting to encounter his phantoms. He squinted at a face he did not recognize. Unsure of his surroundings, the major began to panic.

Dietrich forced him to lie flat on the cot, holding him down by his shoulders. "Major!" he shouted. "It's Hauptmann Dietrich." Werner was shaking now, covered in sweat, his breathing was shallow and irregular. "You're in Africa, in my camp. You're safe" he rattled off his reassurances hoping to quell the hysteria. "Do you understand?"

Taking a staggered breath, Werner closed his eyes. North Africa, he reminded himself. Of course…the desert…Hauptmann Dietrich. He wasn't in France. There were no guards…no Gestapo. Major Werner breathed a deep sigh of relief and swallowed hard. He tried to relax…to forget. He had not had that particular nightmare in a very long time.

Even though Werner still trembled, Dietrich could see that the major had settled down. His breathing was more regular and he seemed to recognize his environment. The look of absolute fear was gone, replaced by what Dietrich thought was resignation. "Are you well?" The captain's question was answered by a single nod. Convinced the episode had passed, he released the major and offered to get him some water.

Lighting the wick of the oil lamp, Dietrich poured the major a glass of water. He carried the glass and the lamp back to Werner's bedside. The flame glowed softly under its glass shade, giving off enough light to illuminate the corner of the tent. Even in the dim light, however, Dietrich was able to detect what appeared to be thin, pink scars that crossed the major's chest and upper arms. The captain knew combat wounds when he saw them. He was sure these scars were the results of something more odious.

"Drink this," Dietrich encouraged the major. He held the glass out as Werner propped himself on his elbows.

Werner sipped at the warm water, and handed it back to the captain. "Thank you," he said, gratefully, then laid back on the bed. "I'm sorry about this," he apologized. "It's bad enough that you are to be my keeper, but you shouldn't lose sleep because of me."

Werner rested his arm across his forehead, revealing more scarring that extended around his side to his back. Since the major offered no explanation, Dietrich decided it was best not to ask. "It's no bother," Dietrich said, shaking his head. "You had a bad dream. There's no shame in that."

"It was bad," the major agreed, his eyes closed against the painful recollection. "But I wouldn't call it a dream."

The mechanical hum of the ceiling fan was almost hypnotic. Sergeant Troy might have been less annoyed with the noise if the fan had made any difference in the temperature of Colonel Wilson's office. As it was, the slow movement of the paddles only served to mix hot air with warm, and Troy was getting restless as he and Moffitt waited for Wilson's arrival.

"Steady there, ol' boy," Moffitt said cheerily from his seat beside Troy.

Troy shot his British counterpart a glance that said he was too agitated to be amused. "Where the hell is he?" he asked.

"Is that a rhetorical question?" Moffitt replied, smiling.

Too anxious to sit still, Troy left his seat and moved to the window overlooking the main avenue of the small Arab town where the Allies had taken up residence. Men and women, dressed in colorful robes moved in a natural rhythm that was a product of thousands of years of tradition. Children ran in the streets, heirs to this proud heritage, seemingly untouched by the conflict that raged around them.

Moffitt studied his partner. If one could harness all of the energy in the universe and package it, he thought, the end product would look exactly like Sam Troy. Compact, yet sturdy, the American had no idea how to relax. Even when he and his men were at rest, Troy's mind raced ahead, plotting their next course, planning their next move. Watching Troy now, he could almost see the wheels turning as he considered what new mission Wilson might have for the Rat Patrol.

Both men's heads turned towards the door as the handle turned and the door creaked open. Moffitt immediately jumped up, joining Troy in saluting as Colonel Wilson entered the sparsely furnished office.

"Good morning, gentlemen," Wilson returned the sergeants' salutes. "I'm sorry to have interrupted your R & R," he said, "but we have some new information that requires reconnaissance of the variety that only the Rat Patrol can provide."

Troy noted the compliment, but made no remark. He and Wilson were not friends in any conventional sense of the word, but the Colonel had a great deal of respect for him and his men, and that was more important to the sergeant than any hollow display of camaraderie.

Wilson opened the folder he had in his hand and studied the single sheet of paper within. "We have word of a special delivery flown in by the Germans last night," he reported. "An SS-officer arrived at approximately 15:00 last night on a flight from France." Colonel Wilson looked up at his men. "He was met by your 'friend,' Hauptmann Dietrich."

Moffitt raised a single eyebrow. It was not surprising the Dietrich had been given the job of escorting a visiting officer, but that this officer was SS, implied a new trend in Wehrmacht/SS relations. "Do we know who it is?" he asked.

"One SS-Sturmbannfuhrer Johan Werner," Wilson read from the file. "He's, apparently, one of Goering's favorites. He's some kinda' expert in art history, and has been helping Herr Reichsmarshall plunder some of the best museums in France." Wilson closed the file and looked at his two soldiers. "What he's doing in North Africa is anybody's guess."

Out of the corner of his eye, Troy saw Moffitt stiffen. He was staring straight ahead; only Troy could have detected the worried look on his face. He had seen that look many times in the past…the look that said Moffitt's iron curtain of English reserve had just slammed shut.

"Sounds like you have this guy pegged," Troy observed. "What do you need us for?"

"Major Werner is due at a meeting in Bizirta this morning," Wilson reported, addressing Sergeant Troy. "I want you and your men to follow him. Find out what this meeting is all about and why Werner's here. Then report back here."

"A little espionage?" Troy asked, grinning.

"Exactly, sergeant." Wilson responded grimly. "Any questions?"

Still distracted, Moffitt remained silent, so Troy answered, "no sir," for both of them.

"Good." Wilson said approvingly. "You have carte blanche in this mission," he added, "but I trust you will use your good judgement, as usual."

'You can depend on us, sir," Troy said, even as he began to worry about Moffitt's sagacity

Wilson glanced at Moffitt but decided not to comment on the sergeant's silence. These men were some of the best soldiers under the Colonel's command. He could not afford to question their acumen. "You're dismissed, gentlemen," he said decisively.

Troy saluted again. Moffitt muttered a "thank you, sir" then followed Troy out of the building. As they walked to their waiting jeep, the young Englander's thoughts were half a world away.

The last vestiges of night lingered like a loving touch on the barren landscape. Dietrich was already dressed and, sitting just outside the tent, he was reading Die Oases when Major Werner joined him. "Thank you for the new clothes," Werner said, indicating the tropical issue uniform of short pants and short sleeves.

Dietrich studied the Major and congratulated himself for guessing his size correctly. "You would not have lasted very long in your dress grays," Dietrich explained, "and I thought you might be more comfortable in the short boots."

Werner glanced at his misshapen right leg, now cleverly disguised by the knee-high socks. "It feels much better, thank you," he said gratefully.

Nodding in the direction of the mess tent, Dietrich suggested they eat breakfast before starting out. "The car is ready," he said, as the two crossed the compound to the tent. "I suspect it will fare better in the heat than we will," he added, smiling.

"How long will it take to drive to Bizirta?" Werner asked, curiously.

"Two, perhaps three hours," Dietrich answered, unenthusiastically.

A warm breeze mussed the major's dark hair, prompting him to ask, "And how long before it gets hot?"

Dietrich smiled knowingly. That was usually the first question every newcomer asked. He squinted into the light on the eastern horizon. Checking his watch, he lifted the mess tent flap and affably answered, "in about 15 minutes."

The two sergeants were only a few miles from their camp when Troy could no longer take the suspense. Pulling off to the side of the dirt road, he pulled the emergency brake and cut the engine. "Okay, professor," he demanded, "what's going on?" Moffitt shot him a look warning Troy he was treading on dangerous ground. Troy forged ahead despite Moffitt's silence. "There's something wrong," he stated, purposefully, "I know you."

Moffitt stared ahead. "There's nothing wrong," he answered.

"The hell there isn't," Troy groused. "You've been doing the stiff-upper-lip bit ever since Wilson gave us our orders." Troy could see that Moffitt had no defense against his observation, so the American continued to prod him for an answer. "Moffitt, if whatever's bugging you affects this mission, I want to know and I want to know now."

Moffitt's sigh was full of acquiescence. Troy was right of course…he would have to share what he knew…the lives of three other men depended on him. And Moffitt knew from experience that Troy would be willing sit on the side of the road for as long as it took. Still, he was not sure if Troy would understand how personal this was. He looked at Troy for a long moment then gave in. "It's Johan…'Sturmbannfuhrer Werner,'" Moffitt said quietly. "I know him." Before Troy could respond, he hastily added, "I've known him for a very long time—before the war."

"Why didn't you say something back there?" Troy demanded.

"Because it shouldn't make any difference," Moffitt said, as if he were arguing with himself.

"It shouldn't," Troy agreed, "but it does."

Moffitt nodded. "Yes, it does."

"How do you know him?"

"Johan is a very brilliant archaeologist," Moffitt said, softly. "He was the site director on more than one dig I participated in. He helped me a great deal, both professionally and personally. I have a great deal of respect for him." Moffitt shook his head, dismally. "We became friends…even corresponded for a while before the war broke out. I don't understand how he ended up with the SS."

"Wilson said he is one of Goering's pets," Troy reminded his friend. "Probably made him an offer he couldn't refuse."

Moffitt sighed and nodded his head in agreement. Even the best of men could get swept up in Nazi machinations. He looked up when Troy started the engine, then placed his hand on the sergeant's arm. "Make me one promise, Troy," he asked, gravely.

"What's that?"

"He won't be hurt."

Troy hesitated. How could he make a promise he wasn't sure he could keep? Moffitt's anguish was almost palpable, but he had to be honest with him. "I can't promise that, Jack," he said evenly, "you know that." Troy thought for a moment. Perhaps he could meet Moffitt half way. "But I will guarantee that I'll do my best to keep him out of harm's way."

Moffitt closed his eyes and nodded. A compromise, he supposed, was better than nothing. As the two comrades drove back to camp, Moffitt's memories of Johan Werner meshed with his misgivings about Werner's military career. His frustration only served to underscore the young sergeant's distaste for the whole bloody war.

Dietrich and Werner had been driving for over an hour. Most of the time had been spent in silence, with the major occasionally asking about their direction or specific landmarks. Werner seemed to be much more at ease, as he casually took in the landscape and the information Dietrich provided about the territory they were passing through. He had a keen intellect, Dietrich thought, and a curiosity to match his own.

"The heat doesn't seem to bother you," Dietrich said, attempting to make conversation.

Werner's eyes crinkled in amusement. "It doesn't," he assured the captain. "I haven't felt this free in quite some time."

Puzzled by his remark, Dietrich glanced at Werner. "You do have a certain amount of autonomy out here," he said. "I suppose it's much different in the European theater." Dietrich thought he detected a shudder when he looked again at Werner.

"How do you propose to find water out here?" Dietrich asked, thinking it best to change the subject.

Werner smiled. This was a topic much more to his liking. "It's rather involved," he explained. "You see, I'm an archaeologist—"

"An Egyptologist?" Dietrich asked.

Werner shook his head. "No…actually, I'm a medievalist. Most of my work has been done in Europe. My specialty is the archaeology of the Crusades."

"You have studied the history of the Europeans Crusaders?"

"Yes," Werner answered. "More specifically, I am interested in the remnants of the Crusader Castles which were built along their route to the Holy Land."

Dietrich raised his eyebrows as he considered Werner's response. "Please excuse my ignorance," he started, "but how does this all tie in with finding water in the desert."

Adjusting his glasses, the major made himself comfortable in the seat next to Dietrich. "I have a theory," he began, "it's rather complicated." He looked at Dietrich to ascertain if the captain was truly interested.

His curiosity piqued, Dietrich shrugged. "I have the time," he answered, relaxing his grip on the steering wheel.

"The last Crusade took place during the last half of the 17th century," Werner explained. "Prior to that, over the span of almost 400 years, there had been a steady influx of European pilgrims into the Near East. These people brought with them European culture, their own brand of morality, a system of government, business enterprises and, most importantly from my perspective, architecture."

"The 'Crusader Castles.'" Dietrich commented.

"Exactly!" Major Werner answered, suddenly animated. "The remnants of those castles stretch from Syria and Palestine to Jordan and into Egypt. But, so far, no one has been able to document the existence of such castles any further west than the Nile River."

"But you think that they do…exist, that is."

"I think they might." Werner could see that Dietrich wasn't entirely convinced. "Think about it. Thousands of men were taken captive at one time or another over the span of those four centuries. If they did not die, they were either made slaves, or simply turned loose to fend for themselves. Many of those men returned to Europe. But many of them stayed on in hope of making their fortunes because of the new trade routes established between the Europeans and the Arabs…"

"And these men may have pushed westward to the North African seaports around the Mediterranean," Dietrich said, finishing Werner's thought.

"Correct!" Werner said, as if he were addressing a prize pupil.

Dietrich chuckled. "I'm sorry, Major, " he said, "I still don't understand what this has to do with finding water."

Werner took a deep breath. "Don't you see? The Crusaders who were left behind would still be building according to European convention. And the medieval castle builders were experts at finding water sources."

Werner's revelation took Dietrich by surprise. As he looked at Werner, the car swerved off of the road, forcing the captain to pull it back onto the pavement. "So, if you are able to find evidence of European construction," he said excitedly, "you may be able to trace the building's water supply."

Werner shrugged, suddenly subdued. "It is only a theory," he answered.

"But one with far-reaching implications," Dietrich said, encouragingly.

"If they will allow me to try," Werner said, quietly. He could feel Dietrich's questioning stare as he turned away to look out of the window. "But the truth is, they would like nothing better than to see me fail," he explained, then glanced at Hauptmann Dietrich to be sure he understood.

"…and just how do you propose to find these 'establishments?'" SS- Standartenführer Kreitzer asked, obviously dubious of Major Werner's abilities.

Werner ignored the Colonel's skepticism. He pointed, instead, to two mountainous outcroppings about 100 kilometers from the northern rim of the Western desert. "The Crusaders consistently built on high plateaus," he instructed the others, "basically for defensive purposes, but also because the elevation gave them direct line of sight to the neighboring castle." Werner looked at the faces of the men around the table-their interest seem to range from unabashed boredom to guarded curiosity. Running his hand through his hair, he took a steadying breath and continued. "I propose that, by using the position of known medieval towns, we can determine the location of possible structures in the desert…and thereby discover their sources of water."

"Impossible!" General Leicht's voice could be heard above the rumblings of incredulity that arose from the gathered officers. "Why would there be any such settlements in the desert when the only significant commerce is in the coastal ports?"

"I beg to differ, sir," Werner argued. "There were trans-Saharan trade routes established long before the Europeans invaded North Africa."

"Yes, yes," Leicht grumbled, "the Romans, we know all about them."

"No, sir," Werner said, emphatically, "these routes go back even before the Romans. I am speaking about the Carthaginians." The look of bewilderment on Leicht's face told Werner he'd won a small victory. "The Carthaginians, sir, were experts in irrigation. So expert, in fact, that the only way the Romans could defeat them was to load tons of salt into their water supplies."

"And you think that the Europeans may have discovered the Carthaginian water sources?" Oberst Berger smiled at Werner's triumph.

Werner saw he had an ally in Berger. "Yes, sir," he said, respectfully, "I do."

"This is preposterous," the general said, shaking his head. "The time and man power needed for this project alone, would not be worth the effort."

"Not worth the effort to ensure the health and welfare of our troops?" Kreitzer asked.

When the general did not respond, Kreitzer asked, "How long would something of this magnitude take?"

"It's hard to say, Herr Standartenführer," Werner answered, cautiously. "A few weeks, a few months…archaeology is not an exact science."

"We will give you a month," General Leicht pronounced his decision. "If you are not able to produce any results by then, you'll be given a one way pass back to Europe."

Werner guessed the General meant the Eastern Front, but he had already decided not to be intimidated. "A month is all I will need, Herr General," he said, resolutely.

"They've been in there a long time," Troy said, squinting at the sun overhead. He readjusted the binoculars and again scanned the courtyard in front of Axis headquarters. Positioned on the roof of an adjoining building, Troy could easily document the activities outside of the building. He had seen Dietrich and Werner go in, but to his knowledge, they had not left.

"Hey, Sarge," Private Mark Hitchcock called out in a low whisper, "I don't see Moffitt and Tully." Shouldering his rifle, Hitch crouched down behind the low wall and crept closer to the sergeant.

Troy focused the field glasses on the roof of the building behind headquarters. He thought he saw a flicker of movement. "Hand me the mirror," he said, holding out his hand while keeping watch on the opposite rooftop.

Hitch opened his field pack. Withdrawing the small, rectangular mirror, he handed it to Troy.

Troy allowed the binoculars to hang loosely around his neck as he positioned the mirror at an angle that would reflect the rays of the sun. Flicking the mirror a few times, he hoped the flash of light would get the attention of his comrades. As he waited for an answer, Troy prayed that the movement on the opposite roof had, indeed, been either Moffitt or Tully. He breathed a sigh of relief when a few, short bursts of light reflected back at him.

Satisfied that his friends were safe, Hitch kneeled next to Troy. "You think Moffitt is okay with this?" he asked, concerned about Moffitt's state-of-mind.

"He said he was…that's good enough for me."

Troy's answer was what Hitch had expected but Hitch doubted it was the truth. Troy would never admit to mistrusting any of his men, but both men knew how personal feelings could affect one's judgement. "Okay," Hitch smiled knowingly, "now how do you really feel?"

"I think he and this Major Werner were pretty close." Troy answered. "He wouldn't have reacted so strongly to the news that Werner was in town if they weren't."

"Moffitt can be pretty emotional at times," Hitch reminded Troy, "especially when it concerns someone he cares about."

Troy thought back to the few times Moffitt had acted irrationally. "Yeah," he agreed, "but that was family. Hopefully this will be different."

If there was a reward for Dietrich's time and effort, it was dinner at the officer's club in Bizirta. For the first time in months he was eating off of china, using his choice of utensils and drinking out of crystal stemware. He would be the first to admit that the table settings were a bit superfluous, but when he actually recognized the cut of meat being served, he decided that-after months of tin-can rations-he deserved a little pampering.

"I'm sorry you had to get involved in this," Werner apologized as he stirred the cream into his tea.

Dietrich watched him over the rim of his coffee cup. It was no secret that the captain did not appreciate being assigned as the major's escort. In fact, Dietrich had objected strenuously when General Leicht had enlisted him and his men to be Werner's makeshift archaeological team. Publicly, he had been told that this project would encourage cooperation between the Wehrmacht and the SS. Privately, he had been ordered to keep an eye on Werner. Conversely, Dietrich did not relish either aspect of his assignment. He did not particularly care whether the Wehrmacht got along with the SS and he refused to play games with Major Werner. "Who, exactly, are you, Major?" Dietrich asked, bluntly.

Without looking at the captain, Werner calmly placed his spoon on the saucer, and stared at his tea. He guessed Dietrich's curiosity finally got the better of him, but the major wasn't sure where Herr Hauptmann's loyalties lay nor how much of the truth he would accept. Deciding that brevity was the better part of discretion, he simply answered, "I am a pawn, Captain." Looking directly at Dietrich, he added, "And now, unfortunately, so are you."

Dietrich leaned forward across the table. "I do not enjoy being a game piece, Major," he whispered intensely, "especially when I am not sure what game I am playing." When Werner did not respond, he continued, "You say you were sent here to find water, and in the same breath you tell me that you don't think it's possible. At the very least, the General and his staff are skeptical about your abilities, and yet they have gone through a great deal of trouble to bring you from France to do a job that has only a theoretical chance of succeeding.

"And you would rather be fighting in the desert than digging in the dirt and watching over me," Werner finished Dietrich's thought.

Mollified by Werner's apparent appreciation of his position, Dietrich evenly answered, "yes."

Werner hesitated as he considered his options. Hauptmann Dietrich was not ignorant. It was obvious he suspected something was amiss; Werner knew he could not lie to him. On the other hand, Dietrich was a Wehrmacht officer and the major harbored too many secrets to trust someone who had the potential to destroy him. He had already survived more adversity than he cared to remember and wasn't about to forfeit his life now just to placate Herr Hauptmann. "Captain Dietrich," he started, "we are both soldiers. Perhaps not of the same caliber, but I think we share the same dedication to our duty. I guarantee you that I am not here for any other reason than to test my theory. If General Leicht doesn't trust me, I can only prove him wrong by successfully completing my mission."

"But you said that they want you to fail."

"I said they would like to see me fail. There's a minor, but significant difference."

"I don't understand."

Werner took a sip of his tea and contemplated his reply. "Finding water in the desert is essential to our victory in North Africa. As you know, General Leicht is willing to give me a chance to prove my theory…but that's all it is…a chance. If, by some stroke of luck, we are successful, our superiors will be satisfied. We'll have provided an important service and Leicht will have another medal to wear on his chest. If we are not, Herr General will not hesitate to send me to the Russian front, and," he shrugged nonchalantly, "again, everyone will be satisfied."

Major Werner's casual response was unsettling. He appeared to be frighteningly indifferent about his circumstance. "Why?" Dietrich asked. "Why are they manipulating you like this?"

Werner laughed under his breath. "I suppose you could say I am something of an embarrassment to the SS," he finally answered.

The major's laugh was almost pathetic. Dietrich could not help but feel an odd sort of sympathy for the man. "Embarrassment?" he asked, "in what way?"

The note of concern in the captain's voice gave Werner reason to pause, but he quickly decided against baring his soul to a virtual stranger. "Perhaps some other time, Captain," he said, tossing a tip on the table as he rose from his chair. "But it's getting late, and we should be getting back to your camp."

Dietrich momentarily considered not going anywhere until he got a straight answer from Werner, then decided against antagonizing the man. He would eventually win the Major's confidence-he was sure of it-but now was not the time to pressure him. Even though Johan Werner had never seen a day of battle, he was war-weary just the same. In many ways, Dietrich thought, Werner's war was even more dangerous than the one he was fighting, for the major could never be sure who was his real enemy.

Outfitted in German uniforms acquired from a couple of unwitting benefactors, Moffitt followed Troy into the empty staff room, while Hitch and Tully took up concealed look-out positions inside Wehrmacht headquarters. His gun at the ready, Troy stood by the door left slightly ajar and kept watch as Moffitt rifled through the few files left on the large conference table.

"Anything?" Troy asked in an exaggerated whisper.

Moffitt shook his head. "Nothing," he answered as he continued to search the room for clues about the mysterious meeting. He shuffled through another stack of folders then tenuously withdrew one in particular, labeled "SS-Sturmbannfurher Johan Werner." The title associated with his friends name gave him reason to pause.

Troy noticed Moffitt's hesitation. "What is it?" He asked, glancing through the crack in the door and then at Moffitt.

Moffitt hesitated as he considered his options. He could say nothing and simply put the file back in the stack of papers. No one would be the wiser, and his friend's integrity would be intact. He also knew that this one folder could hold the answer to the Rat Patrol's mission. "It's Johan's file," Moffitt said flatly, all of his emotion lost in resignation.

Abandoning his post at the door, Troy crossed the room and grabbed the file from Moffitt's recalcitrant grasp. There was a photo of Major Werner attached to an official looking paper. Probably some sort of transfer order, Troy guessed. Two or three other reports were also in the folder…none of which Troy could read.

"What is this?" Troy asked irritably. Losing patience with Moffitt's diffidence, Troy shoved the folder against the Englander's chest. Moffitt was forced to hold the folder to keep the contents from spilling on the floor. "You've got to forget about who he is, Moffitt," Troy ordered his counterpart. "Right now he's nothing but another Kraut and we've got to find out why he's here." Troy noticed the hardened glare in Moffitt's eyes, and backed off. "You're the only one who reads German, Jack. If you don't think you can do this, I'll get a replacement. I know how you feel, but this mission has to come first!"

Moffitt doubted Troy could understand how he felt betraying a trusted friendship, but he also recognized how important his role was within the Rat Patrol. And he'd be damned if Troy thought he could be replaced. Finally pride won out over loyalty and Moffitt opened the well-worn folder.

"This is a transfer order," he said, confirming Troy's suspicions. He took a little longer to read the rest of the reports. After a few minutes, he finally whispered, "I don't believe it."

"What?" Troy asked, anxiously.

"Johan was the Director of Antiquities for the Third Reich, stationed in a small town in France. There was, apparently, some sort of art theft and he was eventually arrested by the Gestapo."

"What does that mean?"

Moffitt shook his head, disbelievingly. "I don't know," he answered honestly. "On the surface, I'd say he's been stealing artwork, perhaps dealing it on the black market."

"What's below the surface?"

"Well, it appears that Reichsmarshall Goering rescued him from the Gestapo. He remained in France for a few months and was then sent here."

"So he was stealing art for Goering?" Troy asked, voicing the question Moffitt could not bring himself to ask. "Maybe he got a little greedy and decided to keep some of that stuff for himself."

"The Johan Werner I knew would never sink that low," Moffitt said angrily, defending the major's honor. "He has too much respect for the past."

Troy decided not to debate the sensitive issue. Besides, Werner's past had little to do with the present. "So why is he here?" Troy asked, indicating the rest of the file.

As Moffitt continued reading a hint of a smile turned into a bona fide grin. "Of course!" he said as if Werner's purpose should have been obvious. Looking up he returned Troy's questioning stare. "He's here to find potential sources of water."

"Sarge!" Both Moffitt and Troy turned towards Tully's hushed attempt to gain their attention. "Krauts are coming. We gotta' go!"

Hastily replacing the folder, Moffitt turned to Troy. "I'll explain the rest later," he said, knowing his partner would need more information.

Shaking his head in agreement, Troy answered, "Later. Let's go!

Together the two sergeants met up with Hitch and Tully. Troy took the lead and the four men left as quietly as they had come.

"Okay," Troy said as he sat down next to Moffitt on the sandy desert ground. "What's the story with Werner?" he asked, warming his hands against the hot cup of coffee Hitch had brewed.

Moffitt drew his jacket a little tighter around his neck to ward off the cold and sipped at his tea. "Major Werner is an expert in medieval archaeology. My guess is that he believes he can find the sources of water the medieval settlers used, hundreds of years ago."

"Do you think it's possible?" Tully asked. "A lot of sand has blown around this desert over the centuries."

"He'd have to use present day settlements to project possible areas of ancient settlements," Moffitt explained. "Using maps and written histories, I'd say it was entirely possible."

"But is it probable?" Troy asked, dubiously.

"Knowing Johan Werner, I would say it's definitely probable."

"Then we have to decide if this is worth pursuing, or should we hand this information over to the brass," Troy said, defining their alternatives.

"If we let Wilson handle this, he'll probably nab Major Werner," Hitch suggested, "and that will be the end of him."

Moffitt threw Hitch a piercing glance—an indication that his proposed scenario was out of the question.

The exchange between Hitch and Moffitt was not lost on Troy. "On the other hand," he interjected, to diffuse a potential argument, "if we let him go, he just may lead a rat to water!"

Moffitt seemed to brighten at the second plan. "We can use the water just as well as the Gerries can!" he said enthusiastically.

Troy looked at his men to gauge their approval. When no one offered any opposition, the sergeant made the decision to allow the Germans to follow through on their project. "Hitch!" he ordered, "get on the radio…tell 'em we're in for the duration."

Dietrich and his men had been following Werner around the desert for more than a week, hauling equipment from site to site, working hard in the oppressive heat, but to no avail. Despite the precise measurements, the painstaking investigations and the incessant digging, Major Werner had come up empty-handed. Although he showed no sign of defeat, Dietrich could sense the major's growing frustration. The ramifications of Werner's failure were ominous, and Dietrich felt powerless to provide any substantial assistance. And to make matters worse, the captain knew they were being followed.

Through his field glasses, Dietrich had observed scant tire tracks in the sand belonging, no doubt, to two American jeeps. He thought he had even heard the clatter of their engines from time to time, but the most damning evidence was that certain feeling he had every time he came in close proximity to the Rat Patrol. He had developed a sixth sense when it came to that particular Allied unit. The sensation took no physical form; rather, it was more like a response to an alarm he felt rather than saw or heard.

Yet, no matter how active his inner alarm became, he sensed no real danger. Sergeant Troy and his men had kept a safe, comfortable distance for the past few days. And Dietrich could see no reason to challenge the Rat Patrol. Not only were his men ill equipped to do battle, but he could not see any reason to defend a project that was, in his opinion, doomed to fail. He imagined that Troy, too, recognized the futility that seemed to overshadow this entire mission.

"Herr Hauptmann!"

Dietrich turned away from observation point to find Corporal Schneider running towards him. His young face was red from exertion; his eyes seemed to dance with youthful excitement. Dietrich returned the boy's salute. "What is it, Schneider?" He asked, patiently waiting for the young man to catch his breath.

"Major Werner…" Schneider responded, breathlessly. "He's found something, I think. He wants to see you…immediately!"

Dietrich tried not to let his skepticism show in light of Schneider's unbounded enthusiasm. "Tell him I will be there shortly," Dietrich replied as Schneider breathed a 'yes sir' and saluted. He was about to run back to Major Werner when the captain reached out to stop him. "Walk, Corporal," he ordered, his hand on Schneider's shoulder, "I don't need anyone falling ill because of heat exhaustion!"

Smiling, the corporal shook his head and picked his way down the rough trail along the side of the plateau. Then, finally unable to contain his excitement, he ran the rest of the way back to site of Major Werner's find.

"I think he knows we're out here," Moffitt said as he adjusted his binoculars to get a better view of the mountainside where Dietrich's outfit had been working for the past day and a half. Lying on his stomach, he planted his elbows in the drifting sand to steady his hands.

Sitting beside Moffitt, Troy laughed under his breath. "He wouldn't be the Captain Dietrich we all know and love if he didn't," he said. "Question is…why isn't he interested that we're out here?" He asked, pointing out Dietrich's peculiar lack of curiosity.

"Probably because he's up to his elbows in sand and rubble," Moffitt chuckled.

Troy finished loading his handgun and turned over on his stomach, bringing his binoculars to his eyes. "Probably because he knows as well as we do that they're on a wild goose chase," he observed.

Moffitt smiled and chuckled again. His good mood did not last long as he focused on Dietrich and Werner huddled over a particular segment of the path that ran along the side of the mountainous plateau. "Hold on," he said warily.

"What?" Uncertain what Moffitt was referring to, Troy carefully surveyed the path until he too came to rest on Dietrich and Werner. "What is it?" He asked, not sure what he was supposed to be looking at.

"They've found something," Moffitt replied a hint of awe in his voice.

Troy watched as the two German officers examined a large chunk of rock. "So much for the wild geese!" he muttered.

"I'm sorry," Dietrich apologized as he examined the large stone in Werner's hand. "I still don't understand the relevancy…"

Werner smiled broadly. "Don't you see? It's part of a wall," he said excitedly, "a medieval wall!"

Dietrich looked at the semi-rectangular stone again. The stone was large, about one and a half times the size of Werner's hand and twice as wide. He could ascertain that the rock was badly worn and certainly looked ancient, but it did not look much different from much of the rubble that lay scattered about the desert floor. "How…?"

On his knees, Werner grabbed another large rock and, with a strong blow, broke off a corner of the stone. He turned it on its edge to show the captain. "Do you see? There's no straw in the mortar." He looked at Dietrich who plainly didn't understand. "Most, if not all bricks from the Middle-East have straw in the mortar…"

Dietrich nodded, indicating Werner's brick. "This one doesn't so—"

"So, it must've been made by Europeans!" Werner sat back on his heels and looked up at the flat mountain above them. He tossed the brick in the air, then caught it. "This," he said, waving the rock at the upper strata, "came from up there."

"And where there's a wall—" Dietrich smiled, as he put the pieces of the puzzle together.

"There's a settlement!" Werner concluded, obviously relieved and delighted at the same time.

"And water!" They said simultaneously.

"Bloody hell!" Moffitt exclaimed under his breath. "He's done it."

Troy removed the binoculars from his eyes. "Done what?" He demanded to know. Although they had been watching the same scene, Troy did not pick up subtle signs that Moffitt had.

"He's found a medieval structure and judging from the size of that plateau, I'd say it is fairly large."

"But it doesn't necessarily mean he's found water."

Moffitt lowered the field glasses and sat up on the side of the sand dune. "No," he said, shaking his head, "but from the size and location—"

Troy watched Moffitt as he abruptly sat upright, suddenly lost in thought. They both knew there was no longer a choice to be made. "I know you don't want to hear this," he said quietly, "but—"

"We've got to stop him." Moffitt uneasily finished Troy's thought.

"If we can get close enough, Tully can take him out."

"No!" Moffitt blurted out. "You promised me—"

"Look Moffitt," Troy said irritably, angry with himself and uncomfortable in his leadership role, "that was before. We can't just go waltzing in there and kidnap the guy. Look at the set up! They'll camp out in front of that mountain and there's no way we can get in without being detected." He watched Moffitt and saw nothing but seething anger. "We can't let them get to the water source before we do, either," he said, adamantly, "there's no other choice."

Moffitt seemed to waver as he considered his options. "Let me go in after him," he said, not looking at Troy.

"No!"

"I can speak German…all I need is a uniform—"

"All you need is to get caught and they'll shoot you as a spy!" Troy retorted. "COM's Moffitt," Troy pleaded for his friend to rationalize their situation, "you said yourself that Dietrich knows we're out here. He'll be expecting us. I can't allow you to take that chance."

"It's my life, Troy!" Moffitt objected. "He's my friend. I can't simply allow you to kill him!"

"He's a SS officer, Moffitt!" Troy exploded, "I don't care what's gone on before between you two, but right now he's the enemy…and he's expendable!"

Without a word Moffitt got up and strode down the side of the dune to the waiting jeeps. Troy hurriedly followed behind him. When he caught up to the English sergeant, Troy grabbed him by the arm and, turned him around. "Don't do what I think you're going to do," Troy warned Moffitt. "It's not your dad this time!"

Moffitt twisted out of Troy's grasp. "No," he agreed, "he's not my father. He's more than that. He's a father, brother and trusted friend. He's an honest and decent man…no matter what uniform he's wearing." Moffitt paused to reign in his emotions, then added more evenly, "Please don't pull rank on me with this Troy, because I'm going in either way."

Troy studied the despair in Moffitt's face. He had tried to stop him once before when they thought his father had crash-landed in the desert. Troy's attempt to harness Moffitt failed then…he had no reason to feel that his efforts would succeed this time. "It'll be dark soon," Troy said, resigned to the fact that he could not prohibit Moffitt from infiltrating the German camp.

Smiling gratefully, Moffitt offered his thanks. "You'll have 'til morning, Moffitt," Troy explained, "that's it. If you're not back by then, I'm gonna' call for an air strike that will take out the entire mountain if we have to."

Moffitt nodded his understanding. "Don't worry," he said, smiling softly, "I'll be back. Johan is not who you think he is."

Doubtfully, Troy watched Moffitt as he prepared for his trek to the German camp. Moffitt was a good friend and a good soldier. Troy disliked the idea of loosing him. He fleetingly thought he should offer to go with him, but he knew his partner could move more easily about the Germans without him. Still, nothing would prevent him from worrying.

Moffitt tugged at the hem of his tunic and jauntily placed the peaked cap of the 21st Panzer Division atop his head. The pants were a little short, but he tucked them into the top of his boots and hoped no one would notice the ill fitting uniform. Bending down, he tested the rope that tied the unconscious German soldier's hands and feet together. The gag was firmly in place; Moffitt prayed it would stay that way long enough for him to find Werner and get out.

Quickly surveying the surrounding camp, Moffitt made a quick appraisal of the compound. To his left, about 100 feet in front of him was, he assumed, Dietrich's tent. He made a mental note to cut a wide path away from that sector of the camp. Another 100 feet further was a second tent. This one was larger than Dietrich's and brightly lit from the inside. Noting the flurry of activity around the temporary shelter, Moffitt surmised that this was where he would find Johan Werner.

"_Leutnant Bauer, kommen sie hier, bitte_!"

The sound of Dietrich's voice caused Moffitt to hesitate. He anxiously looked for something with which he could occupy himself. Conveniently, two shovels and a pail of gravel stood haphazardly against the rear tire of one of the covered trucks. Moffitt smoothly scooped up the utensils and piled them inside with the other equipment. After a moment, he took a furtive look around and only when he was certain he had not been detected did he continue his trek to Werner's tent.

Moffitt returned the smiles and salutations of German soldiers he did not know. They, apparently, did not know him either, which bolstered his conviction that he could get by unnoticed and unhindered. Gradually, he grew near to Werner's tent…and came to a full stop. Inside, he could hear Dietrich and Werner engaged in conversation. Since no one seemed to pay much attention to him, the English sergeant quickly dodged behind the canvas shelter to eavesdrop on the two German officers.

"You should get some rest, sir" Dietrich said as Werner continued to investigate the mortar in his hand. "It will be a long journey up the mountain tomorrow."

"Yes, yes," Werner answered, distractedly. The major looked up suddenly when he realized what Dietrich was referring to. "I'll be fine," he guaranteed the captain with a slight nod of his head. "I and my leg will be fine."

Dietrich leaned against the opposite table and, with his arms folded across his chest, he watched Major Werner at work. Like a child with a new toy, Werner tapped at another section of the stone and gleefully examined the mortar that fell and crumbled on the table in front of him. Without taking his eyes off of the rubble, he reached to his right and grabbed a magnifying glass.

"See?" Werner asked excitedly. With a pair of tweezers, he picked up a fine bit of the debris and held it up for Dietrich's inspection. "This is actually a piece of glass. It's amazing what they used for mortar."

Dietrich smiled to himself. The captain could've been Adolph Hitler himself, and it would not have made the slightest bit of difference to Johan Werner. The man was totally captivated by his find, awash in the innocence of discovery. Dietrich could not imagine this man to be a threat to anyone, much less the SS or the Gestapo.

"Major Werner," Dietrich began, unsure how to broach the subject of Werner's mysterious past, "a few days ago you said you were an 'embarrassment' to the SS." Werner looked up at Dietrich but did not reply, so the captain continued. "I find you to be an intelligent, enthusiastic and dedicated soldier. And, above all else, I think you are an honorable man.

So—"

"So why would do they want to be rid of me?" Werner said, all the joy suddenly gone from his voice.

"Yes…why?" Dietrich asked, honestly bewildered.

Werner studied Dietrich for a moment before responding. The captain was apparently a trustworthy fellow. He was well-liked and respected by his men. Careful and calculating, Dietrich was the soldier Werner knew he could never be. That they shared the same feelings about each other prompted Werner to reveal his story…but not before glancing at the men still lingering about the tent.

Dietrich immediately caught Werner's cue and dismissed the men. "Well, Major," he said at last, "it appears we are alone."

Major Werner gently placed the magnifying glass on the table, alongside the tweezers and his precious little pile of rubble. Without looking at Dietrich, he began his story:

"I was the Director of Antiquities for the Third Reich," he started. His former post was no secret; he guessed that Dietrich already knew that much. "I know it sounds like some sort of important position," he laughed lightly, "but in reality I was no more than a conduit—a thief, if you will—to provide Reichsmarshall Goering with a direct link to most of the important artwork in France."

Werner looked up at Dietrich. "You said you thought I was an honorable man," he said, a sad smile played upon his lips. He again looked away. "Well, I am, Captain…and one day I decided I had done enough to feed Goering's insatiable appetite. Through some personal contacts I had made arrangements for a shipment of antiques that were headed for Berlin to be re-routed to England." Werner looked again at Dietrich but could not read the captain's opinion about his conduct. He considered the non-reaction to be a positive sign, so he continued.

"It's a rather long and laborious story, Captain, but suffice it to say that I became involved in intrigue that was extremely out of my ken. After a great misadventure, I found myself in England with a broken leg and a few fractured ribs…which I had no trouble explaining when I eventually returned to France."

Major Werner gingerly rose from his chair and walked across the tent to a worktable on the opposite wall. "Everyone seemed to believe that I had been injured in a skiing accident—that was the cover my Allied friends had invented—everyone, that is, but the Gestapo." Werner picked up a trowel and an oiled rag and turned around to face Dietrich. "I think they suspected me all along," he said, leaning against the table. Werner attempted to appear nonchalant, but the force with which he wiped at the dirt-laden trowel gave away his distress. "They arrested me shortly after I reported back for duty." He repeatedly scrubbed the hand tool, the strokes becoming more forceful with each swipe. "But I never told them anything…" he said shakily, but with unwavering pride, "…never."

"So that explains your leg," Dietrich guessed.

"No," Werner continued, "not exactly." He fumbled with the trowel and when he could no longer keep his hands from shaking, he threw it across the table. Turning away from Dietrich he braced himself, hands flat on the table as the harsh memories came into full focus. "The Gestapo held me for more than a few days. I don't really know how long—you tend to lose count of the days after a while," he explained. "They would question me day after day, but I never gave them the answers they wanted." Werner shook his head and peered into the distant past. "Too many lives were at stake…I couldn't betray them." Inhaling deeply, the major let go of his breath slowly before continuing. "One day they sent someone new to interrogate me." He paused at a memory too painful to recall. "It must've been a baseball bat," he said quietly, "he broke my leg again with a baseball bat."

Werner limped back to his seat at the adjoining table, the pain in his leg suddenly intensified by the horrific memories. He folded his hands in front of him and closed his eyes. "I suppose you're wondering about the scars, too."

Dietrich remembered wondering about the linear scars across Werner's back and arms. Now he could guess at the reason for their existence. "The Gestapo," he concluded. Werner simply nodded in response.

Appalled, Dietrich drew himself upright as he watched the major. "Why did they let you go?" He asked gently.

Werner wearily rubbed his forehead and laughed. "Believe it or not, it was Goering who had me released. He never suspected a thing. To this day, I think he believes me to be a loyal officer."

The man had been reduced to abject humiliation, physically abused and tortured, yet he sat before Dietrich, on a tireless mission for The Fatherland. "I think you are a loyal officer," Dietrich replied kindly.

For the first time, Werner smiled as he laughed under his breath. "You mean this?" he asked, his eyes roamed about the tent indicating the equipment and manpower the General Staff had provided for his project. "This, my dear Captain, was my ticket out of France—signed and sealed by Reichsmarshall Goering himself-and I took it for no other reason than to escape."

Moffitt slowly rose from his stooped position next to the tent. Everything he had read in Werner's file made sense now. Moffitt felt oddly vindicated—his friend had not changed, only his role in life had metamorphosed into something over which he had no control. There was no longer any doubt in Moffitt's mind…if Werner intended to defect, he would do everything in his power to see that he got his wish.

A slight movement at the front of the tent caused Moffitt to hunker down again. Captain Dietrich stopped just short of leaving the tent. With one flap raised, he bid the major goodnight; with his hands clasped behind his back, his head bowed in concentration, the captain strode purposefully back to his tent. Moffitt stealthily slipped beneath the canvas covering and found himself standing squarely behind his mentor. A wave of emotion engulfed him as he watched Werner working on his find. Moffitt felt as if he had been transported back 10 years before when he had stood in the same place a struggling student, marveling at his instructor's acumen.

But the past was quickly replaced by the present when Moffitt finally addressed his friend by his new title. "Herr Sturmbannfurher," he said quietly, not wishing to startle Werner.

"Yes?" Werner answered without turning around, his concentration centered on the work in front of him.

Moffitt didn't reply; he had hoped his silence would make Werner turn around. After a minute or two, Moffitt had to smile-Werner had completely forgotten someone had called his name. "Professor Johan Werner," he called out again. This time he got the response he wanted.

Werner spun around in his chair at the sound of his name pronounced with an English accent. He studied the dark haired soldier standing in the shadow of the tent's threshold. Immediately he grabbed the desk lamp and threw some light on his visitor. What he saw made him gasp aloud. "Moffitt?" He asked, incredulously. "Jack Moffitt?" He remained unsure who this soldier was until he saw the broad smile and the mischievous glint in his eyes. "Mein Gott!" he said, utterly astounded and pleasantly surprised at the same time. "What are you doing here?" he asked.

Moffitt laid a finger to his lips, instructing Werner to keep quiet. He glanced through the separation of the tent flaps. Satisfied that no one was alerted to his presence, he turned back towards Werner who met him with a fond embrace.

Werner held Moffitt at arm's length, much the way a proud father would examine his favorite son. "What are you doing in that uniform?" he asked, smiling. The smile faded as he guessed at the real reason Jack Moffitt stood before him disguised as a German Corporal. Werner was suddenly fearful. Releasing Moffitt, he took a step backwards. "What _are_ you doing in that uniform?" He asked, swallowing hard as he waited for an explanation.

Moffitt raised his hands in an effort to demonstrate that he was no threat to Werner. "I wanted to see you," Moffitt said honestly, "that's, all. I swear."

Werner carefully considered his ex-student, now his enemy. "So you stole a uniform and infiltrated the camp?" he asked, skeptically.

Nodding, Moffitt momentarily averted his eyes, and smiled. He had become so experienced in this particular element of espionage that it had not occurred to him that Werner would be nonplussed by his appearance.

"Just to see me?" Werner asked.

Still smiling, Moffitt nodded again. He laughed when the major removed his glasses and began cleaning the lenses on his necktie. When it was apparent that Werner did not share Moffitt's humor, the sergeant explained. "Some things never change," he said, indicating the wrinkled tie. "You always did that when you were nervous."

Werner softened when he remembered the Jack Moffitt who had often chided him about his bad habit in the past. "That was long ago," he said quietly. His mood darkened when he caught a glimpse of the swastika tiepin-the only device holding his loosened tie in place. "There are many things that have changed," he replied somberly.

"You are still my friend," Moffitt assured the major. "Nothing will ever change that."

Werner's shoulders slackened as he visibly relaxed. Sighing, he held out his hand to his friend. "You know I feel the same," he said agreeably.

Knocking a mountain of maps off of the only available chair in the tent, Werner invited Moffitt to sit. "I don't have any refreshments to offer," he said, reticently. "Unless warm water from a metal canteen sounds attractive," he laughed.

Moffitt laughed also. "No, I'm fine, thanks," he replied. "Profess…er…Major—"

"How about 'Johan?'" Werner offered. "It simplifies things."

"Johan," Moffitt agreed. He looked at his unassuming teacher, trying to gauge what he would say next. Finally, resting his elbows on his knees and clasping his hands together, he stared down at the well-trodden dirt floor. "Johan," he began slowly, "I was listening outside when you were speaking with Captain Dietrich." The look of disappointment on Werner's face did nothing to ease Jack's confession. "I know it was wrong…but I had to know what happened to you." The major tried to voice his objection, but Moffitt stopped him. "I saw your file at Wehrmacht headquarters. I couldn't believe what I read…but at least now I understand," he said, attempting to smooth over his indiscretion.

Emotionally spent, Werner walked wearily back to his desk. Resting his elbows on the desk, he ran his fingers through his hair, then brought his folded hands to his lips. "Well," he said at last, "I must admit you are very clever at whatever it is you do."

Moffitt's defenses sprang up immediately. He did not feel he had to explain his actions to anyone, especially not to the man he was trying to assist. He then realized Professor Werner simply did not understand his motives. "I'm here to help you," he told Werner.

"I don't need your help," Werner snapped, as he slumped in his chair, his arms folded across his chest. "I've managed to get—"

"You've managed to get yourself in a great deal of trouble," Moffitt urgently interrupted. "I know what you've been doing, sir," he said sternly, "and you and I both know that whatever happens here, your life will never be your own." He gazed kindly at his ex-teacher. "You'll never be out of the Gestapo's reach…not now; not ever."

An uneasy silence descended between the two men as they both pondered Werner's future. "It's not only my life I am worried about," the major finally admitted. "There is someone else."

"Who is she?" Moffitt asked when he recognized Werner's reticence as an act of chivalry.

"A French woman," Werner sighed, as if revealing a troubling secret. "Danielle Carbonneau…she was the assistant curator of a small, local museum."

The emotion in Werner's voice was discomforting; Moffitt felt as if he were trespassing on sacrosanct territory. He momentarily reconsidered asking about their relationship, but the truth was more important at the moment than Werner's privacy. "You were lovers," he stated, watching the major to gauge his reaction.

There was no denying the tears collecting in Werner's eyes, when he quietly answered, "yes."

"They knew about the two of you?"

"I think they suspected something, but as far as I know, she is unharmed."

"So you haven't been in touch with her since you left France?"

Major Werner bit his trembling lower lip. "No," he answered sadly, "I broke off the relationship a few months before I left."

Moffitt brightened. If Mme. Carbonneau was to be the bait, he would use her to see his friend to safety. "What if I told you we could get both you and Mademoiselle Carbonneau safely back to England?"

Werner's fingers nervously danced over his lips as he considered Moffitt's offer. The two of them together in England? He wondered. Could it be possible? He knew Jack Moffitt to be an intelligent, determined young man—he would not have come if he were not serious. Moffitt was honest, and his motives appeared to be honorable, but could he place his trust in Moffitt's associates who were, technically, the enemy? Did he have a choice? He wanted out so badly, he could taste it…but at what price? At last, Werner's eyes met Moffitt's. "How?" he asked, tremulously.

"Come with me now," Moffitt encouraged the major. "My partner will call for an air strike early tomorrow morning. This place will be in ruins. If you escape now, they'll assume you died in the rubble. You'll finally be free."

"You're asking me to allow you to destroy an important archaeological find!" Werner argued. "Whether or not we find water, the site alone is of great significance." Werner picked up the crumbling brick and held it out for Moffitt's inspection. "You'll be destroying history," he said, voicing his misgivings.

"And you'll live to make history," Moffitt reminded Werner. "There are thousands of other sites waiting to be discovered. You'll—"

"My thoughts exactly, sergeant!"

Moffitt and Werner both turned to find Dietrich standing at the entrance of the tent, his gun firmly trained on Moffitt. There was no telling how long he had been there, but Moffitt knew the captain had heard enough to indict both Werner and himself.

"Captain," Werner began, "I—"

"Stay where you are!" Dietrich redirected the gun in Werner's direction when the Major tried to approach him.

"How much do you know?" Werner asked.

"Enough," Dietrich answered, not unkindly.

Glancing at Moffitt, Werner swallowed hard. He could not tell if he had the captain's sympathies or not, but it was clear that Moffitt's life was in danger. "Captain, please…" he started, hoping he'd appeal to the captain's integrity, "Jack and I are old friends—"

"Sergeant Moffit is a member of the Rat Patrol, Herr Sturmbannfurher," Dietrich corrected the major. Looking squarely at Moffitt, he added, "I _should_ have him shot as a spy."

His hands raised in surrender, Moffitt took a moment to evaluate his position. Dietrich didn't seem as angry as he had expected. Perhaps he had heard 'enough' and might listen to reason. Moffitt mentally shrugged. Considering the alternatives, there was little reason not to argue his case.

"Captain," he started, "Major Werner is telling the truth." Captain Dietrich did not interrupt, which encouraged Moffitt to continue. "He was my teacher at one time and I owe him a great debt of gratitude. I thought I might help him out of a difficult situation."

Apparently unimpressed with Moffitt's explanation, Dietrich laughed under his breath. "I should thank you, sergeant," he said, derisively. "Until you arrived, I had no idea why your little group of marauders had not made any attempts to stop this project. Now I can advise headquarters of your plan and stop your bombers before they reach their target."

Werner now understood how much 'enough' really was. Dietrich must've heard their entire conversation. Feeling his only chance to escape quickly slipping away, the major decided to make one last effort to gain the captain's cooperation.

"Captain Dietrich," he pleaded, "you said you thought I was a loyal officer." Without answering, Dietrich looked at Werner, silently granting him permission to continue. "I was," he said, haltingly, "In some ways I still am. But I am not a soldier—not like you are. I have made my contribution to our effort in the best way that I am able. If there is water here, it will be of inestimable value. The German army will have water, virtually in the middle of the desert." Werner drew closer to Dietrich, meeting his gaze. "But we both know I have outlived my usefulness, captain."

"Major Werner," Dietrich's reply seemed to soften, "do not think that I am not sensitive to your predicament. Frankly, I don't know what I would do if I were in your position. But I can not allow you or Sergeant Moffitt to leave. This project is too important for you to abandon. It would be an act of treason."

"It would be an act of kindness!" Werner blurted out. "Has this war become so important that we can not act like human beings?"

"Johan! Captain!" Moffitt interrupted before Werner's argument might provoke Dietrich. When he saw that he had the attention of both men, he continued, "what if I have a compromise that we can all live with?" Moffitt asked calmly.

Dietrich glanced from Werner to Moffitt. Major Werner was desperate—like a man awash in the tide of circumstance over which he had no control. Dietrich could see the frantic look in his eye…the look that had given way to hopelessness. The SS had stolen Werner's spirit; the Gestapo had raped his soul. Perhaps the major was right, Dietrich decided that perhaps the time had come for him to know compassion. "What sort of compromise?" the captain asked, cautiously.

Moffitt closed his eyes to put his thoughts in order. Upon opening them, he saw only two expectant faces reflecting two very different priorities. Moffitt nodded in Dietrich's direction. "If you will allow us to leave—tonight—I will have Troy call off the air strike. That way you will keep the water source and none of your men will have to die. And…" Moffitt indicated Werner, "…the site will remain intact. Just as you wish."

Dietrich sighed inwardly. Perhaps this was the only humane way to handle this complicated situation. Werner was right. There was a gentleness about him that would never allow him to be a soldier—not one that the SS would approve of, anyway. Whatever Werner believed, Dietrich knew he had come to North Africa out of more than his own self-interest. The major had done what he had come to do. What right did he have to deny this man some semblance of normalcy? He knew he should allow Werner and Moffitt to leave, saving the major's life, as well as the lives of his men. But the decision had not been lightly. "I suppose I have no choice," Dietrich replied, his head raised in a dignified manner. "You should leave as soon as possible."

Moffitt raced to the front of the tent, only pausing when Werner did not follow immediately behind him. He turned to find Werner speaking to Dietrich.

"You could've called the guard," the major surmised, a hint of acknowledgement in his voice.

Dietrich simply nodded. "Perhaps I am a human being after all," he said, recalling Werner's accusation.

A hint of a smile brightened Werner's face. "What will you tell them?" he asked, concerned that Dietrich might not have an alibi for his disappearance.

"The truth," Dietrich raised his eyebrows, as if the answer were evident. "You were kidnapped by the enemy."

**-TWO WEEKS LATER AT WEHRMACHT HEADQUARTERS-**

"Is this your final report, Captain?" SS- Standartenführer Kreitzer asked, incredulously.

Dietrich adjusted the cap under his arm as he stood at attention in the middle of a room full of some of the most powerful men in North Africa. "Yes, sir," he answered firmly, unwilling to be intimidated by them. "Herr Baumann has completed the mission," he explained, "there is nothing left to be done from a military standpoint."

"So, what you are telling us, Herr Baumann," General Leicht bellowed at the archaeologist standing next to Dietrich, "is that we have wasted a great deal of man power, time and money on a source of water that is useless!"

Baumann nervously fingered the hat dangling from his fingertips. "That is correct, Herr General," he answered, hesitantly. "There is water at the site…but it is completely brackish. It is so heavily laden with salt that no one-not even the Allies-would be able to use it."

The silence in the room was broken by Colonel Kreitzer's chortle as he sat back in his chair. "So…this is Werner's final folly," he smirked as he tossed Dietrich's report on the table.

"It is still an important archaeological find!" Baumann protested, unaware of Major Werner's role in this travesty. "There is much to be learned—"

"That will be all, Herr Baumann," General Leicht's interruption put an abrupt end to Baumann's objection.

"Sir," Dietrich spoke up, "may I suggest that Herr Baumann and his associates be allowed to continue their work at the site. The discovery would be a feather in Germany's cap and would go a long way in maintaining our good relationship with the indigenous population."

"You sound like Werner."

Dietrich discretely eyed his accuser. "Thank you," he said, his polite sarcasm was unmistakable.

"I would be careful, Dietrich," Leicht intoned his displeasure. "You should consider yourself fortunate that the Gestapo has taken Major Werner into custody. They are, apparently, better able to guard our men that you are."

Dietrich coolly returned the General's intimidating glare. He would be damned if he would allow these men to make him the scapegoat of their inanity. Besides, he knew the General was lying. That the Rat Patrol would turn Major Werner over to the Gestapo was unimaginable. Dietrich guessed that someone had invented a ludicrous explanation for the major's disappearance. Apparently, fabricating a story to keep their spurious prestige in tact was preferable to admitting the truth. A hint of a smile lifted one corner of the captain's mouth. The hypocrisy that had enveloped the room was almost laughable. Dietrich thought it would be best if he left before any of their shallowness rubbed off on him. "May I be dismissed, sir?" He asked, standing a bit taller, staring at nothing on the wall behind the General.

With a wave of General Leicht's hand, both Dietrich and Herr Baumann were summarily dismissed. Together, they walked out into the glare of the afternoon sun.

"The fools don't know what they're doing," Baumann cursed under his breath and he and the captain walked to a waiting staff car.

Inclining his head, Dietrich threw a surreptitious glance in Baumann's direction. "You're wrong, Herr Baumann," he said as he squinted at the sun over head. "They know exactly what they've done." Closing his eyes, Dietrich sadly shook his head. "And that, sir, is what separates humankind from monsters." The captain opened the rear door of the car while wishing Baumann goodbye and good luck. Baumann could only stare in complete bewilderment as Dietrich's car slowly wound its way through the small streets that would eventually lead to the open desert.

**-A SEAPORT IN BENGHAZI—**

"Well, Maj…er…Herr Werner," Troy asked, smiling, "how does it feel to be a free man?"

Werner set his suitcase at his feet on the dock leading to the ship that would take him to England. "I don't know," he said ingenuously, adjusting his glasses on his face. "Somehow I can't believe that it's finally over." He looked at Moffitt. "I still feel like some sort of traitor…a man without a country, so to speak."

Moffitt's eyes crinkled in amused affection. "Don't worry, Johan, we'll be glad to have you on our side." He could see that Werner still wasn't convinced. "Don't worry about Captain Dietrich, either," he said. "I know from personal experience that anyone understands, he will."

This time Johan Werner was able to genuinely smile at his rescuers. Picking up his suitcase, he gave a little sigh. "Well, I guess I should be going. I hope that one day I can repay your kindness."

"You already have, Professor," Troy assured him. "I think you better get going," he said when the steam ship's horn blasted it's intention to leave.

For a moment, the three men stared at each other in companionable silence. "Don't forget that there is someone expecting you," Moffitt said kindly, reminding Werner of the new life that awaited him.

Nodding graciously, Johan Werner turned away from Africa to the sea…and to England.

END


End file.
